A Case of the Mondays
by bright red shirt
Summary: A collection of stories featuring your favorite office coworkers! Chapter eight is finally here, featuring JimPam RyanKelly and...a tornado. Kinda.
1. Michael's April Fools

**Summary: **As a "morale booster" Michael plans an April Fool's Day joke that he believes everyone will find hilarious. Of course things don't go as planned because after all, it is Michael Scott.

**Special notes: **When I started writing this fic I had planned to make each chapter a oneshot. After some consideration (very little, actually) I decided to have them all connected in some way. That being said, this chapter is the only exception. The rest will all tie in together.

Also, this entire story doesn't follow any timeline that any of you (or I for that matter)are familiar with. Sometimes I incorporate information from past episodes, sometimes I ignore stuff completely.

Enjoy!

* * *

Michael's April Fools

"One thing people like is being tricked. For instance, this one time I took my nephew to Disneyland and it had burned down. No wait. I took my nephew to Disneyland, but really I went to a burned down warehouse and told him Disneyland had burned down. He thought it was really funny, but at first he cried. Or wait wait wait! Let me start over, I've got it now. I've got it down to an art! A comedic art! Alright, here it goes. One thing people like--especially kids-- is being tricked. For instance this one time I took my nephew to Disneyland, but instead of driving to Disneyland, I took him to an old burned down warehouse. When we got there I said, 'Oh no, Disneyland burned down.' He cried and cried, but deep down I think he knew it was a really great joke. I started driving to the real Disneyland, but it was getting late."

Michael Scott slapped his knee and burst into a fit of laughter. That was solid gold. He looked at the camera crew, who all had apprehensive looks on their faces.

He coughed awkwardly before adding, "That's not mine. No, no, that belongs to a little sketch comedy show I like to call Saturday Night Live. Well actually, that's what it's called. Anyways, there was a little segment on that a few years ago called Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy. Mr. Handy is a sort of hero of mine," his face turned serious, "I use a lot of his philosophies in my own life. For example, one of my favorites is 'It takes a big man to cry, but it takes a bigger man to laugh at that man.' Kidding! Kidding! But seriously, I do get a lot of jokes from him. One thing though, that I do live by, is the fact that people like being tricked. That is why today, I am pulling the greatest April Fool's prank ever. Ever."

He paused a moment to let this sink. He really was pulling the greatest prank ever. He had labored over it for hours planning and scheming and imagining just how much everyone would love it.

"I realize today is April 3rd, but April Fool's fell on a Saturday this year, and this was just something that was waaay too good to pass up. Besides, it's sort of a morale booster. Not just in the office, but in their personal lives as well. I don't know if you've noticed, but these people live pretty sorry lives. I mean have you seen Toby? That guy just went through a messy divorce; he only gets to see his daughter like every other weekend. So he goes home and you know, turns on the T.V. and eats his cold microwave dinner and he probably just thinks to himself, 'Man, I cannot wait to get back to the office and have some flair in my pathetic life.' Being here is what a lot of these people live for, so I have to make it great. A wise man once said, 'Laughter is the best medicine.' But a wiser man once said, 'Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine. I guess that's why several of us died of tuberculosis.'" He laughed hysterically again. "That was Jack Handy once again. Man I love that guy."

The camera crew glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows.

One of them asked, "Michael, so what's the morale booster?"

"I'm so glad you asked. Alright here's how it's going to go down my homies. I am going to steal everyone's car keys and move around all the cars in the parking lot. My accomplice will be Dwight—not by choice, uh, he overheard me while I was recording a memo to myself. I really wanted Ryan to be in on it; I think we make a really great team. We're a lot like Abbott and Costello. Or Jay Leno and that African American guy that plays guitar. But anyways, the plan is that we are going to get everyone to leave their keys in their desk drawers, and then I am going to get the whole gang outside. Dwight is then going to go around to everyone's desk and steal all the keys. Once everyone is back inside, we will go outside and move all the cars around. People will be so confused when they get out there! Then they'll realize that they were duped and they'll laugh hysterically and everyone will see how clever I am. I think everyone will go home feeling a lot better about themselves, and all from a simple prank. Well its not that simple. As you can probably tell its going to involve a lot of effort and good timing. Dwight better no mess this up."

Michael stood and motioned for the camera crew to follow him, "Alright fellas, I'm going to go and get it started in here, let's get it started in here!" He held up his hands and made a raise the roof type motion, "I love those Black Eyed Peas. They are some cool cats."

He exited the conference room and entered the main office area, "Working hard for the money, eh? Okay all you busy beavers, listen up! Today, we are going to have a meeting outside just to uh get a change of scenery! Okay so everyone, grab your coats, and let's head outside! Oh and also, we're going to be playing a motivational game, so please leave everything that you have in your pockets in your desk drawers. I'm going to be locking the doors, so don't worry about anything getting taken! Just leave everything…cell phones, wallets, car keys—especially car keys, something could get punctured. So just leave everything right there in the drawers and let's get it on! Except not like that you sick minds, you!" He laughed and failed to notice the grumbles and eye rolls from all his employees.

He led the group outside and into the parking lot. He saw Dwight follow behind everyone else and then duck back inside. No one noticed, and he smiled to himself. He rubbed his hands together as he thought how great it would be.

"Okay everyone this is the game. It is called 'Buck Buck'—I cleaned the name up so it would be appropriate for the office environment! This is how you play: one person bends over and the other people line up. One by one everyone runs and jumps onto each other's backs. Whoever causes everyone to fall over is the looooooser! This shows us how important it is for us to cooperate and work as a team in order to succeed."

"Question," Jim interjected, "How does it show that?"

Michael sighed. "Because everyone has to 'hold each other up.' Literally and metaphorically speaking."

"I'm not playing," Angela said and crossed her arms. Other people mumbled as well and took steps back. Michael hadn't expected this. He had expected everyone to jump—literally jump—at having the opportunity to play this game. He and his buddies used to play it back in high school and they always had a blast.

"Too bad, everyone's playing. Who wants to be on the bottom first—uh! Oh! That's what she said, right!" When no one volunteered he said, "Alright I'll do it, but that means someone else has to go first," he bent over and braced himself.

"I'll do it, Michael!" he heard Dwight yell. He came running at full speed and jumped on Michael's back. They both fell to the ground, Dwight landing on top of Michael.

"Dwight! You loser! Get up. Get UP!" They both stood, and faced the group. Michael brushed himself off and said, "If Dwight hadn't ruined it and we had gotten a chance to play, its actually a great game."

Everyone just stared at him and finally Pam askied, "It's cold. Can we please go back inside now?"

"Alright fine, everyone go back inside, go back to work!" Everyone frowned as they headed back inside and Michael thought to himself, _just wait until later. Then you'll be laughing until you pee your pants._

As everyone went back inside, Michael and Dwight stayed, whistling and shuffling their feet. Oscar and Ryan looked at them strangely, but headed inside nonetheless.

Once everyone had gone in, Michael asked, "Okay, Dwight, where are the keys?" Dwight walked over to the door to where a canvas bag lay. It jingled as he picked it up.

"All the keys are right here, everyone's except Jim and Pam, obviously, because Roy drives her. By the way, I think you should take into consideration the fact that Jim blatantly disobeyed his superior by not leaving his keys as you specified. That is sufficient grounds for firing him."

"Dwight, no, shut-up. It doesn't matter. Let just do this." He reached into the bag and pulled out a set of keys, "Whose keys are these, Dwight?" Dwight stared at him.

"I don't know, I just grabbed all the keys and threw them in there."

"Well good going. How are we supposed to know which keys go with which car? I swear, you are such an idiot." Dwight looked from the bag to Michael, and back to the bag.

"I've go it," he said seriously, "We can be like Luke Skywalker and use the force," he breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as he reached into the bag. Michael really wanted to smack him. Instead he yanked the bag away from a startled Dwight and pulled out a set of keys.

"Okay this one says 'Ford' so let's find a Ford and see if it fits. You take a set and do the same." They set off in opposite directions. Michael found a Ford and stuck the key in and pulled the handle.

A blaring alarm filled the air, and another quickly followed it, coming from whichever vehicle Dwight had tried to get into. Dwight covered is ears and ran towards Michael yelling, "ABORT! ABORT!"

A shout was heard from above. Stanley was poking his head through the window.

"Michael, wha—what are you doing! Are you breaking into my car?"

"What? Stanley, no, no. We were just--"

Stanley cut him off, saying irritably, "I'm coming down there!"

Moments later, Dwight and Michael were joined by the entire office. They all looked annoyed, especially Stanley and Angela. She strode towards them, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

"What is going on? Why are our alarms going off? And where are our keys?" Michael grinned sheepishly.

"Whoa! Relax, we were just pulling a little April Fool's Day prank but--"

"It's April 3rd!" Pam exclaimed. Michael sighed.

"Thank you Pam, I realize that! But April 1st was on Saturday, so we had to move the prank to Monday, duh."

"What kind of prank is breaking into our cars?" Stanley demanded.

"Well, we weren't breaking in, per se. We were just _getting _in, so we could move the cars around. That was the whole plan. To move everyone's cars around so that when you all came out to the parking lot your cars wouldn't be where you left them! See! That's not breaking in! That's funny."

"So," Jim began, "You took everyone's keys?"

"Yes," Michael said, sounding bored.

"And then you 'got' into everyone's cars?" Jim continued, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, we tried, and it would have worked, too, if Dwight hadn't screwed it up." Dwight hung his head in shame. Michael looked around at everyone's faces. No one looked at all amused.

"So you did all that. Without anyone's permission," Jim finished.

"Yes—well no, not exactly. It was just a prank that went wrong, thanks to Captain Loser over here. And that reminds me, Jim, you blatantly disobeyed me by not leaving your keys in your desk so…we're going to have to talk about that later," Jim looked at the camera and rolled his eyes.

Later as he faced it alone, he said, "You see, I've developed a systematic way of dealing with Michael. When he tells you do something, you either do it, or you don't. Great skill comes in to play when you have to differentiate between what you should do and what you should ignore. For example, when Michael insisted we leave our keys in our desk, I took them with me. If Michael were to have said, 'Bring your keys with you,' I would have left them. I've really got it down to an art form: 'Jim whatever you do, do not walk into my office right now! Don't do it!' Okay. I won't."


	2. What is Blowing Off Work?

**Summary:** While Michael is out of the office, the hard working employees of Dunder-Mifflin create a rousing game of office Jeopardy. The game doesn't end _quite _as planned, as Jim discovers that some things are better left unsaid.

* * *

What is 'Blowing Off Work'?

Michael was out of the office. Was it for a business meeting? Was he ill? Did a bus hit him? No one cared. Except Dwight who had called him immediatelyafter stepping through the doorand discovered that he had a meeting with corporate. The point was Michael was out of the office, and everyone seemed to have a spring in their step. Everyone, of course, except Dwight. He looked as though someone had shot his puppy. Or trampled on his prize beet.

"Whenever Michael's not here, everyone perks up a bit. They're not happy; god no. Anyone who's happy at work needs to be kicked in the face. No, no one's happy. But suddenly, the day doesn't seem so hard to get through." Jim smiled. "I feel…I feel like there's some hopefor this crazy world." He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, smiling to himself. Today was going to be a good day. Whenever Michael wasn't there, magic happened. It couldn't really be explained. It was just something that happened.

"What are you going to do today?" the camera man asked Jim.

"Work." Jim replied with a serious face, "Just kidding. Yeah right. No, I've been thinking about it for a while, and I discussed it with Pam. At first we considered having a second office Olympics. But we decided we needed something new. Something fresh. And Pam, she gets all the credit for this one--" he paused and smiled to himself, "--she thought of having the first ever game of Dunder-Mifflin Jeopardy! It's genius. She and I have been collecting questions all morning. And in just a few moments, the game will commence."

Jim stood and left the room. He really did have a spring in his step as he walked over to Pam's desk. When he reached it, he leaned against it and grinned. She looked up and smiled when she saw him.

"So Pam," he began, "how're the questions coming?" she grinned.

"Great. I think we have enough. Except I ran into a small problem with Dwight." Jim feigned surprise, and Pam rolled her eyes.

"Really? I am shocked, _shocked_. Problems with Dwight, now that's unheard of. Tell me, what seems to be the cause of this abnormality? Has Hell truly frozen over?" Pam laughed.

"Well. Dwight didn't approve of us blowing off work to play jeopardy. Surprise. But, I've gotten the feeling before that Dwight has some kind of man-crush on Alex Trebek, and so I told him that he could read the questions. And he agreed."

"Nice." Jim replied and held up his hand. Pam slapped it before turning back to the computer screen. An e-mail from Meredith had arrived, and it was the last one she had been waiting for. The game was ready to begin.

"Yeah, but what _is_ up with Dwight and Alex Trebek?" Jim asked, "Because I've noticed that before too." He raised his eyebrows and glanced over to where Dwight was sitting, "And remember that time he tried to grow a mustache?"

--------

"Is Alex Trebek my hero? Yes. The man is a genius. He knows _all_ the answers to _all _the questions _all_ the time. That is someone right there who I could easily devote my life to. Besides he has a really cool mustache, and what a lot of people don't know is that chicks dig mustaches," Dwight paused as the camera man asked him a question, "Of course I tried to grow a mustache. Didn't work out in the end."

--------

Just about the entire office had gathered in the conference room. Jim stood in the front of the group with Pam and once everyone quieted down he said,

"Okay everyone, this is how it's going to go. Everyone knows how to play jeopardy, so…answers must be in the form of a question. Pam and I will be judges to see who buzzes in first—which you will do by slapping the table—and that's about it. So we need three contestants. Who wants to play?"

Ryan, Phyllis, and Oscar tentatively raised their hands. They sat down at the main table everyone else gathering around them. Jim looked at Pam who nodded, and he exclaimed,

"Okay contestants are you ready to play jeopardy!" Ryan raised his fist in a half-hearted cheer. Oscar and Phyllis were silent. Jim raised an eyebrow.

"Right. I'll take that as a yes. Alright, the categories are--" Dwight put a clammy hand on Jim's arm.

"Uh Jim—" he interjected, "I am the host, reading the categories are part of my duties." Jim tried to be subtle as he yanked his arm away from Dwight. Something about Dwight touching him made him want to pull out an industrial sized bottle of sanitizer and squirt it all over his arm.

"Whatever." Jim said and handed the stack of note cards to him. Dwight walked over to the podium and positioned it exactly in the front center of the room. He stood behind it and cleared his throat and smoothed his hair. He cleared his throat again and straightened the podium once more. As he reached for his hair again, Jim coughed loudly and Pam sighed. Dwight glared at them and cleared his throat once more before reading,

"The categories are: Name that Tune, Early Beginnings, When a Man Loves and Woman and Vice-Versa, Potpourri, and Potent Potables."

"What—Dwight, no, that last one is not a category," Jim said angrily. He was beginning to lose his temper.

"Well it should be," Dwight replied before returning to the game, "The first category is Potpourri for 200. This animated show is the favorite of both Kevin and Michael." Ryan slapped his hand on the table.

"What is South Park?"

"Correct." Dwight replied. "What category would you like next?"

"I'll take Early Beginnings for 600."

"When Angela was fifteen she had two cats, one named this and the other named this. Am I allowed to answer?" Dwight asked Jim, "Because I really think I know the answer."

"No Dwight, you're not allowed to answer. The answer's right there on the card in front of you." He looked down at the card.

"Oh. Hey, the answers aren't there in the real game, right?" Jim and Pam exchanged a look.

"Uh yeah they are," Pam said, "No can you please just continue the game?" Dwight looked at the card, and then out the window.

Oscar hit the table with his hand, "What is Kitty and Cat?" Pam nudged Jim,

"How original," she muttered under her breath and they laughed.

The game continued for about forty-five minutes with questions concerning Creed's favorite band, where Meredith grew up, Stanley's wife's name, and Pam's favorite type of yogurt and on and on. Surprisingly, Ryan was in the lead, winning by a landslide. For a temp he seemed to know suspiciously a lot about everyone in the office.

--------

"I listen. Uh, people see me as you know, below them, so they say a lot of stuff in my presence, and thus I have all this…useless information. I try to forget everything I hear, because it makes me really sad that I know this much about everyone here. But it doesn't go away. Sometimes I have nightmares," Ryan sighed before adding, "Its only temporary, right?"

--------

The final question remaining was 'When a Man Loves a Woman and Vice-Versa' for 1000. Even if Oscar or Phyllis got the points, Ryan would win.

"The final question is "Jim's first love."

Phyllis hit the table first, followed quickly by Oscar and then Ryan,

"Phyllis," both Jim and Pam said at the same time.

"Who is Pam?" Jim felt his stomach give a jerk and his cheeks turn red. That was not what was supposed to happen.

"What?" Pam gasped. He refused to look at her. He would not look at her. If he looked at her, he knew his eyes would give him away. He cleared his throat. Words failed him. He could see the words before him; he could picture them there, but he couldn't wrap his mind around them. His mouth refused to form them. He knew everyone was staring at him. He knew _she _was staring at him. But he could not raise his eyes from the floor.

"Is that wrong?" Phyllis asked quietly, "because I thought—"

"That's what I was going to say," Oscar said and Ryan nodded along with him. Jim shook his head sharply and Dwight said suddenly,

"Uh. I'm not really sure what's going on here, but that was wrong, so Phyllis that puts you in last place…and Ryan won. If I had gotten a chance to play, I'm sure I could have won because I have a very sharp mind. I think its important to know as much as you can about your comrades. You never know when you're going to need it."

No one was listening to him though. Everyone was still focusing on Jim and Pam. Jim decided to look up from the carpet, and sure enough, everyone was staring at him. He grinned sheepishly.

"Ha good one guys. Yeah that's funny…" his voice trailed off awkwardly and he cringed inside. He made to leave the room. Everyone else stayed where they were. He exited and went to his desk. Just sitting there, the reality of what happened sank in. It was stupid. What he should have done was just laugh right when Phyllis had said 'Pam.' He should have laughed and denied it, and Pam probably would have gotten a kick out of it. But instead he had said nothing, and now Pam knew. He had known this day would come sooner or later, but he had pictured it so differently. He hadn't wanted it to be something just blurted out by a co-worker, but there was no going back now.

Even though it was only 2:30, he grabbed his papers and coat and headed for the door. As it swung shut behind him he heard Pam call after him, but he ignored her and headed home.

--------

"So," Michael said when he returned in the late afternoon, "What'd I miss?"


	3. One Mistake After Another

**Summary: **Jim tries to drown his sorrows after Pam discovers the truth. Clumsiness abounds, and Pam does something she never thought she would.

* * *

One Mistake After Another

She knew. There was nothing he could do about it now; he just needed to accept it. But it was so hard. He had no idea how he was going to face her on Monday.

But that would have to wait until Monday. What's done is done, and he just had to make the best of the situation. Which is why he had decided tonight to get plastered. He needed to forget everything. Normally Jim wasn't much of a drinker, but tonight was different. He had this intense pressure in his chest, like someone was standing on it. And he couldn't stand the feeling.

As he drank, he thought about Pam. He thought about when they had been on the booze cruise, and had stood out there on the deck. He had wished that she hadn't been wearing a coat so he could take off his own and give it to her. He imagined how adorable she'd look in it; how small and delicate she'd appear. He had wanted to tell her then and there how he felt, but she had shivered and the moment had passed. He sat down at the table and buried his head in his hands. It seemed as though the harder he tried not to think of her, the more he did. In elementary school, one of his friends had said to him, "If you think of what I tell you not to think of, I win. Now, whatever you do, don't think of purple elephants." Of course purple elephants had been all he could think of.

She was adorable. That was true. But she was so much more than that. It was her sense of humor. She always laughed at his jokes, but not in an obnoxious way, like some girls. She was sincere about it. And any time he cooked up one of his schemes, she was always quick to join in. It was like they were the same person. Then there was how caring she was. Even with someone as obnoxious and annoying as Michael, she couldn't help it. That's what was so wonderful about her. At the Dundies, when Michael had been so defeated and ready to give up, she had cheered him on and encouraged him to continue. She couldn't stand him, but she also couldn't stand the thought of him being upset.

He wanted to be with her so badly. It was killing him. He wanted to lie next to her at night and just sleep. He wanted to go out for dinners, and take walks in the evenings, and dance. He hated to dance. He wanted to stay up late and hold her while they watched Saturday Night Live. He imagined her with him, and it seemed so right.

And now she knew.

--------

Pam sat in her living room alone. She had taken a nap in the afternoon, and when she had awoken, she had discovered a note from Roy saying he'd gone out with his friends and wouldn't be back until late. She crossed her arms and glared angrily at the blank T.V. screen. Roy could be so irritating sometimes. Actually, lately he seemed to be getting even more irritating with each passing day. She didn't like to think about it, but when she did, she supposed it had something to do with the wedding date being set. As it approached, she started noticing more and more things about him that bothered her. And this was just the icing on the cake.

This morning she had told him that she thought it would be nice if they went out for dinner and a movie in the evening. He had agreed, reluctantly, and she had really been looking forward to it. It wasn't often that they went out anywhere and did anything. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time they had had a date. Sometimes, he could just be so insensitive.

As she sat there on the couch, she thought about yesterday, and the whole fiasco with Jim. She had been so shocked when Phyllis had said her name, and even more shocked when it seemed everyone else agreed. She had looked at Jim, but he had refused to meet her gaze. When he had left, she had called after him, but he had just ignored her. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but this was something they needed to sort out. She didn't want things to be awkward between them, but at the same time she knew things could never be the same.

She thought that maybe she should call him. Apologize (though for what, she didn't know) or just assure him it wasn't a big deal. She was sure he was probably beating himself up about it. She reached for the phone, but hesitated. She hadn't ever really _called _him before. She realized she didn't even know his number. It wasn't programmed in her cell phone. It wasn't listed on the message board in the kitchen. She went into the kitchen and into her purse. Digging through it, she found her address book. Under H she saw _Halpert, Jim- Dunder Mifflin._ Under it she saw his number listed. She hesitated again. Maybe he would think it was weird that she was calling. Then again, things probably couldn't get any weirder between them. She punched the numbers in the phone and listened to the ring. She was about to hang up when she heard,

"He—hello? Hello?"

"Jim? Its Pam."

"Oh Pam! I was just, literally, _just _thinking of you! To what do I owe this immense pleasure?"

There was something strange about his voice. It was loud and boisterous, and very un-like Jim. She realized suddenly that he was drunk, and she suppressed a giggle.

"Jim—Jim are you okay? Are you—" she tried to ask him if he was drunk but he cut her off.

"You know, I am fiiiiiine. Just great. Couldn't be better. Feeling pretty fantastic as a matter of fact. Yup couldn't be—whoa!" Pam heard a loud crash, and some shattering glass. He must have dropped the phone because when he spoke he sounded far away. "Pam! Pam! Hang on. Are you there? I can't find the phone. I just had it but—oh there it is, hang on, I'm coming!" She heard him fumbling with the phone and couldn't help laughing. She had never seen Jim drunk, and it was hilarious.

"Jim are you there?" she called.

"Yep, sure am. I just dropped it, and then couldn't find it, you know. Hey Pam, does that ever happen to you? Have you ever lost the phone? I always lose mine when the battery's dead so then I can't call it to find it or anything!" he was yelling, and reminded her of a little kid. How adorable.

"Jim listen I was just calling—" she heard another loud crash. "Is Mark there?" she asked. She hoped he was because Jim seemed really drunk, and probably shouldn't be left to his own devices.

"Nope," he laughed, "No I'm here all by myself. He's out of town for a wedding. Or a meeting. Or something, you know, I can't remember what for."

It was against her better judgment, but all of a sudden she decided to go over there. He was too drunk to be alone; she could just imagine what had already been broken. He needed someone to look after him.

"Jim, listen I'm coming over, okay? I'll be right there." He didn't respond, and she heard another crash, followed by the dial tone. She didn't bother calling back, just grabbed her coat and went out the door. She didn't leave a note for Roy either, because frankly, she could care less.

As she drove, she thought about what she would say when she got to his door. It probably wouldn't matter what she said because from the way things sounded, he would be too drunk to notice. Still, she felt her stomach all in knots, and her palms were clammy. She scolded herself mentally for getting so worked up about nothing. It was only Jim. She had never been nervous around Jim. But she knew it was different. The fact that he was drunk didn't just erase all that had occurred yesterday. Hopefully though, it would make things a bit less awkward.

She pulled into his driveway and took a deep breath before heading up to the house. She knocked sharply on the door, and from behind it she heard a loud crash and some curses. After a few moments, the door was flung open to reveal a red-faced Jim.

"Pam!" he exclaimed and wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed in a singsong voice, "Look at you! You are very…" her voice trailed off as she looked around the room. The place was trashed. Tables knocked over, papers everywhere. She couldn't believe that the entire mess was from him. It looked a band of wild toddlers had been left to their own devices.

"I kind of knocked some stuff over," he said sheepishly. He stumbled into the living room and collapsed on the couch. She followed him in and took off her coat. She set it on a chair and walked over to where he sat.

"I think I'm a little drunk," he said suddenly. She laughed and sat down next to him.

"I would agree," she replied with a smirk.

"You know, I don't drink much, but tonight was different because I was just so—" he stopped talking abruptly, as though he had suddenly remembered something. He let out a small "Oh…"

She coughed awkwardly, before saying in a cheery voice,

"You know what Jim? I think maybe we should get you into bed!" He shook his head and stood, stumbling across the room.

"But I'm not tired!" he whined. He crossed his arms like a petulant child and she couldn't help laughing. He might be a loud, clumsy drunk, but he was also the cutest drunk she had ever seen. When Roy was drunk, he was mean, ranting and raving about everything. Jim, on the other hand, was charming and funny. Someone she would like be drunk with.

She stood and crossed to him. She placed her hand on his back to guide him, and he threw his arm around her shoulders, leaning against her. She noticed how even when he was drunk he was careful not to put too much of his weight on her. It was one of those subtle, caring things Jim did that she liked so much about him.

Pam was laughing hysterically as they struggled up the stairs. Jim was telling some long-winded story about a time in high school when his friends had spiked his punch and he had gotten drunk out of his mind and jumped off the shed roof, breaking his leg. After much difficulty, they reached his room and she flicked on the light. Everything looked exactly as it had the last time she had been there.

She led him to his bed, and as he lay down and pulled the covers around him, he smiled broadly at her. She returned his smile, and said,

"Now you just go to sleep, and you'll feel better in a while."

"Oh Pam! You silly Pam!" He exclaimed. He paused, staring at her for a moment. "Thank you." He said quietly and his eyes fluttered shut. She smiled and turned off the light as she left the room. She went downstairs to the living room and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the disaster area. She thought about the drunken Jim, and smiled to herself. She figured she had nothing better to do so she began cleaning. She turned the tables back over, put the pillows back on the couch, and made stacks of the all the papers that littered the floor.

When the living room looked decent, she headed into the kitchen. The chairs were tipped over, and there was broken glass on the floor. On closer inspection she saw that the glass was from a picture frame. The picture was facedown, and she bent to pick it up. Her stomach flipped as she turned it over. It was a picture of the two of them and her teapot. It must have been taken at the Christmas party. Funny. She couldn't remember the picture being taken. She was slightly hurt as she cleaned up the broken glass. She hoped it had been an accident. She didn't want to think that perhaps he had broken it because he was angry with her.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, she crept quietly upstairs to his room. She pushed the door open and peered inside. He was sound asleep, lying on his back with an arm flung above his head. She watched him for a few moments. His chest rose with every breath he took, and she suddenly felt very guilty staring at him. She turned and left the room, pausing outside the door to shake her head before returning downstairs.

She glanced at the clock. It was barely eleven. She figured she should probably go home, but she really didn't feel like it. She convinced herself that she needed to stay here, in case Jim needed something. She collapsed on the couch, falling asleep in minutes.

--------

When Jim awoke, his head was pounding. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. It was still dark out. He mumbled groggily and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He tried to think back to earlier that evening, but it was all very foggy. His stomach lurched suddenly, as he remembered Pam had been there. He groaned inwardly as he realized he must have made a fool of himself. He leapt out of bed and rushed downstairs. When he reached the living room, he saw she was asleep on the couch. He looked around. The living room was spotless, which was surprising because he knew he had left it trashed. He went into the kitchen and noticed that it too had been cleaned. He flicked on the light and squinted as his eyes adjusted. He glanced over to the table, and saw the picture of him and Pam. He had been staring at it when Pam called, and somehow he accidentally dropped it when he was talking to her. The picture frame had smashed, but he hadn't bothered to clean it up. She must have picked up the broken glass and seen the picture. As if the situation could get any worse. She must have thought he was obsessed with her.

What a mess he was in. Was it really only yesterday that Pam had realized he was in love with her and he had made a fool of himself? And now she was in his house, asleep on his couch. He looked at his watch and saw it was around 5:30. He should probably wake her up and give her a ride home. Roy was most likely worried about her.

He went into the living room, and stood over her for a moment, just watching her sleep. She looked so beautiful, with her cheeks flushed, and her hair falling in her face. He knelt down beside her and placed a hand on her arm.

"Hey. Pam," he whispered, "Hey, wake up." She sat up abruptly and gave a quiet yelp. "Hey its okay. You're okay. Its just me." She turned to look at him, and he thought it both sad and wonderful that her sleepy eyes were the best thing he had seen in some time. She smiled sleepily at him and yawned.

"Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Oh not so bad. Uh, it feels like someone tried to drive a nail through my skull, but you know, other than that I couldn't be better. A bit embarrassed, but…"

"Oh don't be. You are the cutest drunk I have ever seen." He was glad it was dark, because he felt his cheeks flush. He cleared his throat and stood as he spoke again.

"Listen, its around 5:30, do you need a ride home or anything?" She stood and shook her head.

"No, no, um I drove here." Of course she had. He was so stupid. How else would she have gotten here? As if Roy would have dropped her off.

He grabbed her coat and they stepped outside. Handing it to her, he said quietly,

"Hey can I ask you something?" She nodded, and he shifted uncomfortably before saying, "Why did you come over? I mean, not that I don't appreciate it, but you really didn't have to." She smiled at him.

"You took care of me when I was drunk. I had to return the favor, right?" She laughed, recalling the night at the Dundies.

"Well thanks. I really appreciate it. I'm sorry you had to clean up after me. I get really clumsy when I'm drunk."

"I noticed." She replied. She slipped her coat on and stood facing him. In the quiet hours of the morning, everything was still. His heart was beating so loud, he was sure she could hear it. He was sure everyone down the block could hear it. He tried looking at anything besides her. Eventually, though, his gaze fell on her. Everything was silent. He tried to look away, but couldn't. He couldn't take his eyes off her. And the way she was looking at him didn't help either.

It's strange how in the dark, stillness of the morning, things happen that wouldn't ordinarily happen in the brightness of the day. It was strange how Pam was stepping closer. Stranger still how it wasn't him moving forward; how it wasn't him that was reaching out. It was strange that she was so close to him he could count all the freckles on her nose.

And for the second time in his life, Jim kissed Pam. Their lips had barely touched though, when the strangest thing of all happened. Jim pulled away.

"Pam. No," he whispered. She was so close to him, he could feel her warm breath on his face.

He didn't get a chance to say anything else, however, because she backed away. The next thing he knew, she was driving down the street, away from his house.

Jim sighed and turned to go inside. There was definitely no way he could face her on Monday now.


	4. Today I am This Many!

**Summary: **It's someone's birthday in the office, but somehow everyone missed the memo.

* * *

Today I am This Many!

It was a horrible Monday morning in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Outside, an icy mixture of sleet and snow was falling from the bleak sky. A disgusting gray slush was beginning to collect on the sidewalks and streets, and as businessmen and woman walked from their cars to their respective offices, the cold pierced their throats with each breath.

Inside the Dunder Mifflin office, things were not any better. The weather was casting a dark shadow over everyone; the entire office moved as though in a dense fog. The fact that it was 10:30 in the morning on a Monday just added to the overall feeling of despair that was hanging in the air.

There was one person, however, with a slight spring in his step. Dwight K. Schrute sat at his desk, trying to balance a sharpened pencil on his index finger. After it fell off for the twelfth time he set it down and leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head, surveying the room. Usually, he did not condone slacking off. Zero productivity only led to problems. Not just for him, but for the entire workplace. And he simply did not tolerate that.

Today was an exception however. Despite the despicable weather, and the frowns on the faces of all his co-workers, today was an excellent day. Today, it was is birthday, and he'd be hard pressed if any stupid snow or depressed office workers were going to ruin that for him.

He looked around. Jim was typing something on his computer, but suddenly stopped and laid his forehead against his desk, sighing loudly. Dwight smiled to himself. He couldn't explain it; he liked when Jim was having a bad day, and it was obvious that today he was. When Jim had walked through the door (at half-past nine, which Dwight had dutifully reported to Michael) he had looked disgraceful. His clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was slightly more disheveled than usual. He had stared straight ahead as he walked to his desk. Upon sitting down, he had picked up a pencil, gripping it horizontally with two hands, promptly snapping it in two. He had looked down in surprise at the two pieces in his hands, as though trying to figure out how they had gotten that way.

"Hey Jim?" Dwight said suddenly.

"Hmmm?" Jim responded. He lifted his head to look at Dwight, a rogue piece of paper sticking to his forehead. He swatted it away.

"So…you know what today is?" Dwight's voice was full of anticipation as he smiled broadly at Jim, who glanced at the calendar.

"Groundhog Day," he said with a sigh. Jim turned back to his computer screen as Dwight frowned.

"No. Well—yes it is, but do you know what else it is?"

"You know what Dwight? I'm pretty busy, so I don't really feel like playing twenty questions, okay?" Dwight crossed his arms angrily and scowled. He turned to his own screen, and tossed an angry glance at Jim before beginning to type rapidly.

"Dwight," Jim said, sounding annoyed. Dwight chose to ignore him. "Dwight!" Jim said again, louder. Dwight scoffed and continued typing angrily, pushing each key as hard as he could, imagining it was Jim's nose. Fed up waiting for a response, Jim said, "What are you doing? Your computer's not even on."

Dwight glanced at Jim before reaching up and turning his screen towards himself, so it was out of Jim's line of sight. He continued typing, stabbing the keys with all the force his fingers could muster. He heard Jim sigh and turn back to his own work.

So what Jim didn't know it was his birthday? Dwight didn't even like him anyways. He thought hard about someone who would remember what a special day today was. He realized who that person was, and he snapped his fingers happily. Michael. Of course Michael would know. He stood up abruptly, nearly leaping out of chair, and headed for Michael's office.

--------

"Today's Dwight's birthday? Great. Like I wasn't having a bad enough day already." Jim frowned at the camera. The cameraman asked him a question, and his frown deepened. "Does it look like I care?"

--------

Dwight marched up to Michael's door and did what he liked to think of as his trademark knock. _Rap rap raprap rap, RAP RAP._ Michael called for him to come in and he threw the door open and strode inside. Michael was sitting in his chair with his legs propped up on his desk, trying to balance a sharpened pencil on his index finger.

"That's pretty hard, isn't it?" Dwight asked. The pencil fell onto the desk.

"Ye—no, no. I was doing it before, you know, but then you came in here and you messed me all up." Michael took his feet off his desk and sat up in his chair. He looked at Dwight, who looked back. They stood there staring at each other for several moments before Michael finally asked,

"Uh…what can I do for you? Do you need something spec—" Dwight cut him off abruptly.

"Say, Michael, do you know what today is?" Michael would know it was his birthday. Besides his cousin Mose, Dwight considered Michael to be his best friend. Best friends always know each other's birthdays.

"Groundhog Day. And looks like the groundhog saw its shadow, so summer's right around the corner!" Dwight glanced outside at the heavy snow that was falling from the sky.

"No. No! Why does everybody keep saying that!" Dwight turned around and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

--------

"What do I think is wrong with Dwight?" Michael paused for a moment. "How should I know? Sometimes he can be such a petulatant child."

The cameraman held back a snicker.

--------

Dwight sat at his desk with his arms crossed. He had gone up to nearly everyone in the office, asking them if they knew what today was. No one had mentioned his birthday. The only replies he had received had been, "Groundhog Day" and "Monday" and "god-awful." It wasn't fair. This morning when he had awoken, he had been filled with anticipation. He had figured that there would be a big party at lunch, with hats and streamers and cake, like at Meredith's party. But how could there be a party if no one even knew it was his birthday? Even Angela hadn't said anything, and it was a woman's duty to remember stuff like that!

This was so typical of everyone here. They were so wrapped up in their own little worlds that they failed to notice HIM. They were all so stupid. Stupid Jim and his stupid sighs and nervous glances at the reception desk. Stupid Michael and his stupid jokes. Stupid Oscar and his stupid phone. And he could go on and on! The fact that these people went through their days without so much as glancing in his direction ticked him off. He hoped he didn't meet any of them outside after work, or he would be forced introduce them to what he like to call the fist of fury. That would show them.

And now, to add to his frustration, the cameraman was calling him into the conference room.

--------

"Yes I've seen Napoleon Dynamite," he replied irritably, "Didn't get it. That kid was just like me as a teenager, and no one ever made a movie about me. What does this have to do with anything?"

--------

All day long he waited and waited for someone to come up to his desk and wish him some sort of happy greeting. He tried dropping subtle hints to Jim. "So Jim, what are you doing tonight? Going to any kind of festive party to celebrate something that only comes once a year?" and "I think I'm all out of those cone-like party hats and kazoos. I'll have to stop by the party store on the way home and pick some up, just incase something comes up. I should get some cake while I'm out, too." Jim had ignored him at first, but had finally become so fed up that he fled to the break room.

When the clock reached five, he gathered up all his things and went straight out the door, without saying a word to anyone. He had been yearning to say something to Angela about his mistreatment, but she had left at 4:30. He had considered telling Michael, but at the last moment, thought better of it. There was not use getting her in trouble.

When he was alone in his car, he sighed, and put in his favorite R.E.M. tape. He turned the volume up and slowly drove home through the snow.

When he reached his house, he thought it strange that all the lights were off. Mose must have gone out for a drink. Great. Even his own flesh and blood didn't remember the most sacred day of his year. He trudged through the snow up to the door, and threw it open. The house was dark. He figured he would have some dinner and a beer, and watch whatever was on the Sci-Fi channel. As he entered the kitchen, he was shocked to see flames. He threw on the light, prepared to battle the raging fire.

There stood Angela with a homemade cake that had '_Happy Birthday Dwight!' _written haphazardly across it. A small box sat beside the cake, wrapped in dark green paper. His favorite color.

He was too shocked to say anything, so he didn't. She held open her arms, and he ran to her like an overjoyed child.


	5. It's Only Temporary

**Summary: **Romance is setting hearts a flutter all over the office. As always, awkwardness ensues...and what's going on in the supply closet?

**Special notes:** I have no idea what the number one song was on February 2, 1983, but I am certain it was not 'Safety Dance.' I heard it on the radio the other day, and I could just imagine Michael doing that weird dance that they do in the music video.

* * *

It's Only Temporary

The fact that it was temporary was probably the only reason he was able to get out of bed in the morning. He wasn't stuck there forever. He wouldn't spend the rest of his days being at Michael Scott's every beck and call. In fact, he could leave whenever he wanted to. The only reason he didn't was because he needed the extra cash while he was in school. His days at Dunder-Mifflin were numbered, and that thought alone was all it took for him to roll over and turn off his alarm.

However, when Ryan had glanced out the window this morning, it had been enough to make him want to pull the pillow over his head and go back to sleep. The weather outside was miserable and it took all the strength he could muster to crawl out of bed and step onto the cold floor. The ominous weather made him certain that it was going to be an awful day.

At work, things just got worse. He had barely stepped through the door when he had been called into Michael's office. He walked in and nearly collided with Michael, who was wearing a hat with some kind of beaver or something on it.

"Hey bud! How's it going pal? Wait before you say anything, check this out," Michael promptly started flailing his arms and whispering, "S-s-s-s-A-a-a-a-F-f-f-f…" Ryan cleared his throat, grimacing. Michael, of course, didn't notice.

"Oh yeah…I loved that in 1983…when I was three…" his voice trailed off. Michael didn't seem to hear him as he laughed hysterically. Ryan glanced at the camera, waiting for him to stop.

"I was checking out the web today and saw that it was the number one song on this day, back in 1983. You know what that's from, right? Saaaafty daaance." Ryan shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah...I got that," he mumbled under his breath.

"What's that?"

"I like your hat."

"Why thank you, just felt like being a little festive today. Any who, listen, I'm trying to pick out some curtains for my living room and I want your opinion. Okay, these are the two I'm trying to decide between…which one do you like?" He held out a catalog and pointed to two different pictures. Ryan was pretty sure they were exactly the same.

"Uh…I don't—I really don't think…" he paused before adding, "No." He shook his head and looked at the ground. There was something so disturbing about the thought of picking out curtains with his boss. Michael folded his arms and frowned at him.

"All you have to do is say which one you like better," Ryan shook his head again. Leave it to Michael to make him feel so uncomfortable that he wished the walls would close in on him.

"You know, I really don't think I'm um…qualified. Why don't you ask Pam or Angela…? They'd probably know more about it than I would." Michael's frown deepened. He leaned againist his desk, squinting at Ryan.

"Okay…you should get back to work. I don't like people slacking off. In fact, have you even done one thing since you walked in the door? I really don't want to have to contact the temp agency."

"But you called m—"

"No excuses Ryan. Back to work." Ryan turned with a sigh and left the room. This was turning out to be a pretty lousy day.

He had been sitting at his desk for all of ten minutes when Dwight had marched up to him and demanded,

"Hey temp, guess what today is?" Ryan blinked.

"Monday?" he ventured, resisting a tremendous urge to roll his eyes. Dwight literally stomped his feet. He folded his arms across his chest, pouting.

"Wrong!" he exclaimed, "Try again." Dwight's beady eyes were staring at him so intensely it made him cringe.

"Uh…" he glanced at the calendar. _Groundhog's Day _was written in small letters below the date. Michael's hat suddenly made sense. "Oh! Um, Groundhog's Day." He glanced up at Dwight. _Please let him go away. Please let him go away._ Dwight narrowed his eyes.

"What is WRONG with everyone!" he spun around abruptly and stalked off to his desk, but not before turning around and shooting Ryan a nasty look.

His cell phone rang, loud and shrill. Glancing at the caller ID, he smiled. Here was the one thing he had been looking forward to today.

"Hello?" he asked, a broad grin spreading across his face.

"Hey Ryan!" a friendly, female voice exclaimed. "Its me."

--------

"I guess you could say I'm seeing someone. I haven't _quite_ told anyone here…only because I can just imagine how well it would go over…considering—well just considering."

--------

"Hey there. How's it going?" he asked. He was speaking quietly, trying to be subtle. He didn't want anyone to overhear him. He glanced around. No one was paying him any attention. Just the way he liked it.

"So," he continued, "Are we still on for lunch today?"

"We sure are. I should be there around one…is it alright if I just come on up?"

"Uh…no, no. Don't bother coming all the way up here," he stammered, "I'll just meet you in the parking lot, okay? I think it's a little too early to— I'll meet you downstairs, alright?" She sighed, sounding a bit irritated.

"Okay Ryan. I know you don't want them to, but they're going to find out sooner or later that you're dating someone."

"There's no reason for them too. They don't pay me any attention. I'm pretty sure Michael's the only one that actually refers to me by my name."

--------

"I actually don't mind that everyone calls me 'temp.' Or in Kevin's case, 'tempy.' Really doesn't bother me. In fact, I think it's better if I don't become too involved with this place. By not calling me by my name, they're admitting they don't accept me in their world. And I don't accept them in mine," he paused for a moment, thinking. A horrified look spread across his face, as he suddenly realized something, "Oh god, unless it's like a nickname!"

--------

The day crept by, slower than ever. He thought there must be something wrong with the clock, because every time he looked at it,the hands had barely moved. He glanced around the room, examining everyone. Pam was sitting at her desk, absently biting her nails. Every now and then she would glance over in Jim's direction, who seemed to be staring at absolutely nothing on his computer screen. Ryan was pretty good at reading people. He had known in his first week that Jim had something for Pam. Just from the way they were treating each other today, he was pretty sure something must have happened over the weekend, besides the whole Jeopardy thing. He watched as Jim stood and hesitated, appearing as though he might sit back down. But he shook his head and walked over to Pam's desk. He smiled at her weakly, and they began conversing in low tones. Something definitely must have happened.

His attention turned to Kelly who was talking on the phone and making large, animated gestures with her hands. She was cute, and for a while he thought there might be something between them. They had chatted a few times, and at Jim's barbeque they had spent the entire night hanging out together. But then, about a month ago she had come up to him and said, "You better milk it for all its worth, because you have about three more years of hair! Do I see it receding some? Hey! You and Michael could start some kind of club." She may have only been teasing, but they definitely didn't know each other well enough for her to say something like that. Besides, being compared to Michael was as bad as insulting someone's mother. Then again, maybe he was just being too sensitive. He reached up and touched his hair self-consciously. He was _not _balding.

The accounting department appeared to be working busily. Every few minutes Angela would glance up at the picture of her two cats and turn her lips upward in a smile-like motion. However, it couldn't really be called a smile because Angela did not smile. Ever. He could not imagine being wound that tight. He would probably end up shooting himself within a week. He glanced at Kevin, who was reaching for a large handful of m&m's. It was strange. The supply of candy in Kevin's huge jar never dwindled. It was always at the same level. He must keep bags and bags in his desk drawers; however, Ryan had yet to see him refill it.

He cast a hopeful glance at the clock. It was 12:30, and everyone was either leaving to go out for lunch or heading to the break room. In about five minutes he was going to head downstairs. Just to be on the safe side.

By 12:37, he was the only one left at a desk besides Creed who was sitting across the room, with his back to Ryan, eating a sandwich. Ryan reached for his bag, searching for his keys. He was still rummaging through it when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and turned around.

"You're here!" he exclaimed, glancing around the room. Creed was the only one still there, but he wasn't paying them any attention. He sighed in relief. "What are you doing here? You're early!" he had a look on his face that he hoped would be interpreted as happily surprised.

"Well, I got here a little early, and I decided to come up, silly. Gosh," she teased, "You don't have to look so happy to see me." He laughed nervously.

"Well, are you ready to go?" he asked quickly, "We should probably head out," he couldn't help looking around the room anxiously. He really did not want anyone to see them.

"Sure. Hey, you want to drive?" she asked, grinning broadly at him.

"Yeah. I can't find my keys though." He looked around his empty desk before it dawned on him. He had set them down in the supply closet when he had been looking for post-it notes. His cell phone had rung, and he had rummaged through his pockets searching for it. "I forgot. I left them in the supply closet." He turned to the back corner of the office, and she followed.

"Okay. Sure. I would love a tour of the supply closet," he turned and grinned at her before glancing around the room one more time. No one was around. They could probably spare a minute. Besides, she'd probably just get upset if he told her to go wait in the car.

He opened the door and didn't bother flicking on the light; she was holding the door open. He gestured with his arm,

"This is the supply closet, where you can find anything your heart desires, as long as its produced by an office store, including but not limited to: Staples, Office Max, Office Depot,--or my personal favorite--Uncle Oliver's Office Emporium. A necklace for the pretty lady?" he held up a chain of paper clips. Someone must have been bored when they were organizing the closet. She smiled at him.

"I accept," she said and he reached to fasten it around her neck. "How do I look?" she asked, posing for him, and of course looking absolutely adorable.

"Wonderful," he replied laughing at her. She let the door slide shut. "Oops. Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all.

"That's okay," he replied nonchalantly, reaching for the light. He was surprised when he felt her hands on his chest, slamming him into the shelf, which shook dangerously. He swallowed nerviously. "What are you doing?" he whispered. She was inches away from him.

"Nothing," she replied innocently, before kissing him.

--------

Kevin headed to the supply closet, his stomach full from the meatball sub he had had at lunch. A bad idea, he knew now, as he felt his stomach grumble. He was looking for his chain of paper clips he had made that morning while organizing the supply closet. It was really long. He was definitely saving this one.

He opened the door and gasped.

"Whoa…purse girl?" he looked at the person she had her arms wrapped around, "Tempy?" he asked, sounding confused.

Ryan groaned. His jacket was off, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and his tie was askew. Needless to say, he was not presentable. He quickly thought of any excuses that might explain their compromising position.There were none. It wasn't like he could pretend they had just gone for a stroll in the closet--and what? He had tripped and fallen on her lips? Or it was hot so they decided to take off some layers, then suddenly had gotten cold and huddled together for warmth? He should have known better to go into a dark closet with a beautiful girl. Where had his levelhead gone to? He looked around the room. Lunch, apparently, was over. Everyone was staring at them, mouths agape. He immediately looked to Jim, whose expression was unreadable.

--------

"No, I don't care about Ryan and Katy. Really I don't. I haven't seen her in ages. I have other things on my mind right now. I mean he didn't have to ask me or anything. It's not like we're friends…so the code doesn't really apply," Jim paused for a moment, "Come to think of it he did mention something at my party. I said we'd talk about it later, but we never got around to it. Whatever. Yep. I'm cool with it. No problem…"

--------

"Kevin, shut the door!" Ryan finally exclaimed. Kevin smiled suggestively before doing so. Ryan turned on the light and faced Katy.

"Okay…so not _quite _how I wanted everyone to find out," he frowned, smoothing his hair and fixing his shirt. She just smiled.

"Oh Ryan, lighten up. It's not that big a deal. Besides, did you see the look on Jim's face?" She reached for his collar, but he pulled away.

"Not that big a deal? Katy, I work here! These people are my colleagues! We're adults. Not a bunch of teenagers at an unsupervised party," he shook his head. He went to say something else, but stopped abruptly as it suddenly dawned on him. .

"Wait a minute. You planned all this didn't you?"

"Oh Ryan, don't be such a drama queen," she flashed him a smile, "Come on, let's get out of—" he cut her off.

"You did! You knew this would happen! That's why you were so persistant about coming up here. You just wanted to get back at Jim for what he did to you on the booze cruise! Unbelievable. I cannot believe I fell for that. Here I was thinking you genuinely like me." She sighed and looked at the floor.

"Listen Ryan, you're a great guy—"

"No, I don't want to hear it. I'm out of here," he threw open the door, nearly colliding with Dwight and Michael who had their ears pressed to the door. He shoved past them and went straight to his desk. He didn't even look up as he heard her leave. The whole room was deathly silent until finally Michael exclaimed,

"Score!" he applauded, but the only person who joined in was Dwight. Ryan buried his head in his hands. He could not be any more embarrassed. He felt someone beside him and groaned inwardly as he glanced up and saw it was Michael.

"Normally," Michael began, "I would have to take some action against that little display in there…but WOW, she is smokin' so…no harm done," he slapped Ryan on the back, and winked as he backed away. "Tell me all about later," he said grinning.

Everyone was returning to their work. This _had_ turned out to be the worst day ever. Getting caught making out in the supply closet with a co-worker's ex-girlfriend was pretty high on the list of things not to do at work. Right up there with violating your temp, which Michael had done on several occasions. Ryan saw a shadow over him.

"Way to go Tempy." Kevin said. He stood there for a moment, smiling, before turning and leaving.

--------

"I mentioned a while ago that while I was here, I didn't want a 'thing.' Well that all went out the window with the whole toaster incident. First I was the 'Fire Guy,' now I'm the 'In-The-Closet Guy.'" He paused for a moment, considering this. "Wait. That is _not _what I meant."


	6. Good Guys Finish Last

**Summary: **Jim and Pam try to return things to normal after the catastrophe that was the weekened.

* * *

Good Guys Finish Last

He just _had _to be such a good guy, didn't he? He just _had _to be the kind, caring, sensitive one. He couldn't just have been a jerk. That would have saved him a lot of problems his entire life. Maybe that should be his new policy. Be a jerk and not care at all. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so badly.

She had kissed him. Again. And he had pushed her away. Why did he have to have a conscience? Why couldn't he have just kissed her back, like he wanted to do so desperately? She was engaged; that was what had set the alarm off in his mind the instance their lips had touched. But really, for just _one_ moment in his life could he have not been the good guy?

He had awoken that morning feeling sick to his stomach. It was Monday. The day he had been dreading for the entire weekend. At first he had had no idea what he was going to do when he saw her, but all of Sunday had been spent thinking about it and he had finally decided that he would be indifferent. He would apologize, and then just not interact with her anymore. It was a flawless plan. Besides, it wasn't like they could go back to the way things were before. As he sat up in bed he decided to try a little experiment.

_She doesn't love you, _he thought. There. That wasn't so bad. He continued. _You're nothing more than a friend to her. She doesn't want to be with you._ This was working. He decided to say it allowed, and see how he felt.

"She doesn't love you," he said. He felt better already. Really. He did. After all, no one ever died from not being in love. Right?

Convinced he was cured, he got out of bed and went downstairs. Mark was still out of town, and the empty house made him feel unbearably lonesome.

As he got ready for work, he felt like he was someone watching from another room. There he was, putting his shoes on and tying them. Grabbing his coat and heading out the door. He could see himself doing all these things, but he felt nothing. As he drove to work, he almost turned around a number of times. He considered calling in sick. He could stay home, and then he wouldn't have to see her. It seemed like such a great plan, but he knew it would never work. He couldn't avoid her forever, could he? He'd have to face her sooner or later, and though he would have preferred it to be later, there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Once at work, he tried to subtlety sneak through the door to his desk. He was over half an hour late, and the last thing he felt like doing was dealing with Michael. He went straight to his desk, not even glancing once at Pam.

There. He was through the door. One step down, about a million more to go. The good thing about arriving half an hour late to work was that it meant it was one less half an hour he had to deal with. He looked at the clock. The hour hand seemed to be unbearably far from five.

He felt horrible, and he knew he didn't look any better. He knew his hair was sticking up and that his clothes were wrinkled. He knew he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep the entire weekend. He knew that he probably should have shaved that morning. He touched his face and could feel a day's worth of rough stubble there. It was not like him to be so unkempt. The thing was, he could really care less how he looked.

And then he looked at Pam. He couldn't help it. Old habits die hard. He looked at her, and suddenly realized just how hard it was going to be to get through the day. He sighed deeply, laying his head on his desk. He closed his eyes and contemplated staying like that the rest of the day. He could almost imagine he was at home, in his bed with the covers pulled around him. This daydream was short-lived however, because he had no sooner pictured himself there when Dwight had brought him crashing back to reality.

"Hey Jim." He groaned inwardly. Dwight must have a death wish. He considered not looking up and just pretending that he wasn't there. But he knew from past experiences that Dwight was like an irritating itch. The more you ignored it, the worse it would become.

"Hmmm?" he replied absently, looking up. A piece of paper was stuck to his forehead, and it took him a moment to realize it was even there. He hit it away, irritated. Dwight proceeded to ask him something about what day it was. Jim had no idea what he was getting at, and Dwight's relentless questioning was beginning to push him over the edge. He took a deep breath before responding.

"You know what Dwight? I'm pretty busy, so I don't really feel like playing twenty questions, okay?"

Jim had never seen a grown man pitch a hissy fit before. Dwight slammed his fist against his desk and crossed his arms before turning back to his computer screen, and typing furiously. What moron. How could he not realize that Jim could see his computer screen and therefore knew that it wasn't even turned on? Jim told him this, which only caused Dwight to become angrier.

Good. Now maybe Jim could go back to sulking in peace. He stared at his own blank computer screen for a good twenty minutes before he heard someone calling his name. He glanced up and saw it was Pam. She was beckoning him to her desk, and against his better judgment, he stood and crossed to her.

"Listen," she said as he approached her, "About the other night—"

"No," he said interrupting her, "I'm sorry." There. Step one of the plan completed.

"Me too, and I just wanted to—"

And now for step two.

"Great. You know what though? I'm really busy, so I should probably get back to…" he motioned to his desk. For a moment she looked taken back, but she was quick to compose herself.

"Right. Right. So I guess…I'll see you—"

"Sure, see you later," he turned quickly and headed back to his desk. He sat down and stared at a blank piece of paper, pretending to be engrossed. Two minutes later he could still feel her eyes on him.

Its amazing just how little work can be accomplished when one tries extraordinarily hard to appear busy. Jim spent the morning staring intermittently at his computer screen and the stack of papers on his desk. By quarter past twelve, he had gotten out a scrap piece of paper and started a game of tic-tac-toe against himself.

There were so many times that Jim wanted to go over to her and tell her something; a joke or an anecdote just to make her smile. When he found out it was Dwight's birthday, and that no one had remembered, it was almost too much for him to remain seated at his desk. He wanted to go to her and plot ways to torture him, like they had done so many times before.

He had thought that ignoring Pam would be easy, but it was proving to be anything but that. It's like when you have a nightmare and you wake up terrified and unable to fall back asleep. Once its light, though, you realize just how ridiculous it was to have felt the way you had the night before. He felt foolish to have ever thought that his plan of not interacting with Pam would have worked. He realized then how awful he had treated her earlier. She had wanted to tell him something, and he hadn't let her speak. So this is how it felt to be a jerk. He didn't like the feeling, and he stood abruptly. He moved to go to her desk, but hesitated. He almost sat back down before shaking his head determinedly and approaching her. She looked up when he reached her, and he smiled weakly.

"Hey," he said quietly, "Listen, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I was being such a jerk, and I'm sorry."

"Its no problem, really," she said. An awkward silence settled between them. He thought about all the things he wanted to tell her, but as was the case lately, words failed him. He was immensely relieved when she was the next to speak.

"Really, I should be the one to apologize to you. Um, I had no right to… you know…and I just—I was angry at Roy and I think on another level I just wanted to…get back at him."

His stomach sank. So it had meant nothing to her. It had all just been a way to spite Roy. He scolded himself for being so upset. What had he been expecting her to say? That even though it was wrong, she had enjoyed it as much as he had? Of course not. Still, a part of him—a very small part—had been hoping that it might have evoked some kind of feeling for him in her. That part of him had stupidly believed that something good could come from the whole mess.

"Right," he said, "No big deal. Just—" Now she was the one to interrupt him.

"Let's just—can we pretend it never happened? Is…is that at all possible? Because I miss…like hanging out and stuff."

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely," he lied, "And hey, about the whole Jeopardy thing…" his voice trailed off as he tried to think of what to say next.

"What Jeopardy thing?" she asked turning to her computer with a small smile on her face.

"You know—oh," he said suddenly realizing what she was doing, "Right." He returned her smile when she looked up at him. He tapped the desk, about to return to his own.

"Hey you want to go get some lunch?" she asked suddenly, "Roy called earlier and told me that a bunch of the guys down in warehouse were going somewhere…so clearly, I'm not welcome."

"Sure," he said, "Let me grab my keys."

As they headed out the door, he grinned and said,

"Hey did you know its Dwight's birthday? I think its really bothering him that no one remembered." She laughed, and he was filled with relief. At least they could pretend things were back to normal.

"Oh that is rich." she replied, as the door swung shut behind them.

--------

As Pam ate lunch with Jim, she began to feel a little better about the whole mess. They were chatting about the different things they could do to infuriate Dwight about everyone forgetting his birthday.

"How about this," Jim said, "We call the florist and have a bouquet of flowers delivered—"

"Oh!" she interjected, "And one of those huge balloons with happy birthday written across it!"

"Yes! So we have those delivered, and when the guy comes to your desk, you say—in a loud voice, of course—that there must be a mistake, because it's no one's birthday in the office." She laughed, imagining how angry Dwight would be. Jim began to explain another one of his schemes and Pam smiled. She was so relieved that things were looking better for the two of them.

She had been miserable since she had kissed him. She had told him that she had only done it to get back at Roy, which was a blatant lie. But it wasn't like she could tell him the truth. That she had kissed him because she wanted to. That even when he was drunk he was charming and adorable. That by saying she had done it to spite Roy somehow made her feel less guilty.

The guilt was what had consumed her all day Sunday. When she had pulled into the driveway, Roy's truck had been there. She had figured that he would be home, and she had spent the drive there trying to think of any excuse that would explain her absence until almost 6 in the morning.

He was in the living room when she walked through the door.

"Where have you been?" he asked quietly. He was sitting on the couch, with his arms crossed. She thought it strange that he wasn't being more demanding.

"I was at Angela's house. Her boyfriend broke-up with her, and she was a mess." She wasn't even friends with Angela, but Roy did not know this. She had never lied to him about anything, and she was surprised to discover how easy it was. This thought made her feel even worse.

"Oh," he replied. He stood up and crossed to her, "Next time, if you're going to be out so late, leave a note. I was worried about you, baby." He wrapped his arms around her, and her stomach sank even farther. She had wanted him to be angry with her. The fact that he wasn't suddenly made her realize the reality of what had happened.

Roy had kissed her then, and for one brief moment she had imagined it was Jim. But she had immediately pushed all thoughts of him out of her head. She loved Roy. She really did. And she already felt guilty enough.

--------

Jim felt better as he entered the office. He was surprised at how quickly they had been able to pretend like nothing had happened between them. Pretend, of course, being the key word. But he supposed that pretending was better than ignoring her.

He had no sooner sat down at his desk when he heard a commotion over in the direction of the supply closet. Kevin was saying something. He glanced up, and had to do a double take. He thought he had seen Katy. He looked again. It was Katy. She was with the temp in the supply closet, arms around him. He saw them both look in his direction, and he was sure his jaw was hanging open.

The door finally shut, and he sat there staring at it. His gaze finally fell on Pam. She mouthed something to him, and he went over to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, definitely," he smiled half-heartedly at her.

He was getting really good at this whole 'pretending' thing.


	7. Drug Awareness

**Summary: **There's a seminar in the Dunder-Mifflin office about the dangers of using drugs. And surprise, surprise, not much is learned.

Drug Awareness

"Today we are having a seminar on drug safety. Or drug awareness—wait. Maybe it should be unawareness? I don't know. Anyways, we are having a seminar on drugs and why they are bad in the workplace," Michael paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "I mean always. Why they are bad always, in every way, shape, and form. Unless they are prescribed for disorders. Or women's problems. Anyways, corporate has asked me to give my loyal devotees a little talk on the dangers of puffing the magic dragon." He mimicked smoking a joint. "I bet you guys didn't know that song isn't _really _about that little boy and his dragon. It's about _drugs_." He nodded his head seriously before leaving the conference room.

"Minions, minions, my loyal little minions," he said upon entering the main office, "Everybody out there listen up. Today we are having a little talk about the dangers of doing drugs. So I want to see everyone, especially you Stanley, in the conference room in five minutes." Stanley shook his head and rolled his eyes, continuing to look over his consumer reports.

Ten minutes later, everyone was assembled in the conference room, their chairs in a circle. Michael stood, cleared his throat, and glanced down at his note cards.

"Paper," he began thoughtfully, "Paper is what we sell here at Dunder-Mifflin. It is our provider, and we love it tenderly and gently, like we love woman. Or men, for you ladies, whatever. But what some of you might not know, is that paper can be used to wrap drugs in, and then smoke."

Jim raised his eyebrows, and nudged Pam, a small smile playing on his lips.

"So," Michael continued, "Today we are going to talk about the dangers of using drugs and—"

"Michael," Dwight said suddenly, jumping up from his seat, "As Assistant Regional Manager--"

"To the," Michael interjected.

"--and as Deputy Sheriff, I would also like to share how to recognize if any of your colleagues are using any illegal paraphernalia."

"Actually, Dwight, that's already part of my presentation," Michael said as he wrote something on his note cards.

"Yeah but I want to do it."

"Well—too bad. Just…just sit down. Ahem. As I was saying, today we will discuss the dangers of using drugs, as well as how to recognize if any of your colleagues are using any…illegal paraphernalia," he glanced significantly at Dwight. "So, when corporate told me to do this, they sent down a bunch of brochures and…crap. I threw it out, because you know what? All that stuff is just shiny paper. When talking about such serious subjects, we need to get real. How can we relate drugs to our own personal lives? Or um…rather how can we relate the dangers of _doing _drugs to our own personal lives?" He paused and squinted at them, nodding his head slowly. "I thought for a long time about what we could do, to get real, and just…open up. I thought we'd share any experiences we might have had where we were under the influence. Of drugs," he added, incase anyone was confused.

No one spoke up. They all stared at each other in disbelief.

"Uh Michael," Phyllis began hesitantly, "I don't think you can really ask us to share that." Michael scoffed at her, and jumped to his feet.

"C'mon people. Just…this is a safe place, okay? No one's going to judge you. This is for us to get to know each other a little better. So who wants to go first?"

To everyone's surprise, Angela raised her hand, "I will," she said. Pam held a hand to her mouth, snickering quietly. Angela glared at her before continuing.

"For your information, I have never done any kind of drugs. That's my experience," she nodded her head matter-of-factly.

--------

"It's true. I have never done drugs. As a teenager, I avoided certain social situations. While everyone else was at parties, I would go to bible study. And really, in the end, I benefited the most. I won't be going to Hell."

--------

"What? No, people, you are missing the point! Not doing any drugs is not an experience. That's just…whatever. Anyways—"

"Michael," Dwight said, "Maybe this would be a good time for me to share the signs that someone is under the influence."

"Shut it—no! Okay. Let's take a five minute break and then we will recon—we will meet back here. Alright?" Michael was the only one to get up and leave.

--------

In his office, Michael was sitting at his desk, perched on the edge of his chair. He was reading something on the computer screen, and glanced up when he saw the camera crew enter.

"So I'm looking online for the agency that represents…uh an entertainer that might help us with this matter—ah ha! Here it is." He dialed the number and drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for someone to answer.

"Yes, hello! Uh, I am holding a seminar for my employees on drugs—that is the seminar is on drugs, not them. At least I don't think. Anyways, I was wondering how much it would cost to have Snoop Dogg come and talk to them…Yes I'm serious…hello? Hello?" He hung up the phone and sighed, "Well apparently he's busy so…plan B."

He entered the conference room, clapping his hands loudly, "Alright everyone, listen up. I have decided that Dwight will now tell you all how to recognize if someone is hmm…lighting up a mary jane. Or you know, doing other drugs too."

Dwight leapt up from his chair and saluted Michael, "How to tell if someone is using illegal paraphernalia," he began, "Lesson one: physical signs. Bloodshot eyes. This means their eyes will appear bloodshot. Any questions? Okay. Next, dramatic weight loss _or _gain. They might appear to be skinnier, or fatter. Poor hygiene. They might smell. Missing work," he paused and eyed Oscar suspiciously, "And finally, slurred speech. That might mean they are currently under the influence. If that is the case, check their eyes. Are they bloodshot? Have they gained or lost any weight? Are they at—"

"Okay _Dwight_, I think we've got it," Michael interrupted. Dwight sat down and raised his head haughtily in the air.

"One more thing, if you have any suspicions about _anyone_ here…let me know. As deputy sheriff."

"No. Alright, any questions?" The room was silent, "Okay, next…" he paused for a moment, and glanced around the room. "So you users! Anyone else want to share about a time that they…how about you, Kevin?"

Kevin eyed the room nervously.

--------

"I have never done drugs," Kevin said glancing over his shoulders, "I have never done drugs."

--------

"Okay, well this was a bust. Ha! No pun intended! Alright, in conclusion, don't do drugs, or…you'll be fired. And drugs are bad for you so don't do them. Alright dudes and dudettes, back to work!"

The employees exited the conference room chatting idly to each other.

"Creed, I heard you had a wild past…smoking stuff," Oscar said with a grin on his face.

"Hmm? No, I'm not choking," Creed replied.

--------

Jim had been at his desk for all of five minutes when he stood and crossed to reception.

"So Pam," Jim said innocently, "Have you ever…you know." He nodded his head back towards Michael's office.

"What? Of course not! I am insulted that you would even ask," she folded her arms. Jim nodded his head, and was silent for a moment.

"In high school?"

"Totally. But only once, I was a good girl. You?" she asked.

"Twice. I too, was a good girl," he replied seriously, and she giggled.

"Hey, so I've been meaning to ask you. Um…how are things…you know after the whole Katy and the temp fiasco?"

He stared at her for a moment.

"Um…fine, actually haven't talked to her at all. Hey, I'll talk to you later, I'm kind of behind on some work."

Pam sighed as she watched him walk back to his desk. She figured she probably shouldn't have even mentioned it. Things were finally somewhat normal between her and Jim. She didn't want to mess that up.

Jim sat down and pretended to work for several minutes. It was hard to concentrate. He was certain he could hear a soft, shrill, ringing coming from somewhere. He sighed and decided he needed to cheer himself up.

"Hey Dwight," Dwight jerked his head up.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Nothing. Except, um, I have it on good word that someone in the office is under the influence."

"What?" Dwight whispered, his voice full of shock, "Tell me Jim. Tell me now."

Jim nodded his head seriously, "Well, this person's eyes are bloodshot. Hygiene's horrible…and since I've been here I've definitely seen their weight fluctuate,"

Dwight nodded along, hanging on Jim's every word, "Who is it?" he asked. Jim reached in his desk drawer and held up a small card.

"That's my driver's license," Dwight said.

"Yep," Jim replied.

--------

"What did I learn today?" Pam paused thoughtfully, "Pretty much nothing. So you know…just another day at the office."


	8. Tired of the Weather or Maybe Just Tired

**Author notes:** Wow, sorry this has taken such an incredibly long time. I had horrible writer's block. I've had the basic idea of what I wanted to be accomplished by the end of this chapter since mid-March, but that was about all I had.

There will probably only be two or so more chapters to this story before it's completed. It has gone in almost a completely different direction from how I had originally planned. I suppose next time I should have an outline or something : )

Title inspired by 'Boston' by Augustana.

**Summary:** The threat of a tornado drives the Dunder-Mifflin crew into the warehouse. Ryan realizes something. Jim tries to get Pam to realize something. Kelly is clueless. Mainly Jim/Pam and Ryan/Kelly centered. Basically just my excuse to get everyone alone in the dark, har har.

* * *

Tired of the Weather or Maybe I'm just Tired

Jim leaned back in his chair and stretched luxuriously, reveling in the fact that he had a mere thirty minutes until he could grab his bag, head home, and never look back. Until tomorrow, that is. But he only had a week before he would be leaving for his trip and he had taken to obsessively looking at the clock and figuring out what time it was in Australia. _It's four thirty here_, he thought, _so that means it's six thirty tomorrow morning there._

He swiveled idly in his chair, glancing out the window at the blackening sky and thought it strange for it to be so dark at only four thirty. On closer inspection he saw that it wasn't so much black as it was a dark, sickly shade of green. He stood and peered outside, noticing that it was a sight windier than it had been an hour ago. The trees were blowing about wildly, and he half expected to see the wicked witch pass by on a bicycle.

Glancing once more over his shoulder at the ominous weather, he turned and went to reception.

"What's up with that?" he asked Pam upon reaching her, leaning against the desk and nodding his head in the direction of the window. "Doesn't look too promising."

She stood and looked around him. "Yikes," she said nervously, "When did that all start? Last time I checked it was sunny and blue, not a cloud in the sky."

"I don't know, I just now noticed it. Check the weather report."

She sat down and stared at the computer screen as the page loaded, "Hmmm, severe weather statement for Scranton, Pennsylvania," she paused, reading farther down the page, "Tornado watch. What's that one again? I always get watches and warnings confused."

"I think warning means that one has been spotted. Watch just means that conditions are favorable."

She grinned at him. "Okay, Mr. Egghead. You could give Chet Montgomery a run for his money."

He gasped, feigning shock. "How did you know that my secret ambition is to be pretty boy weatherman for a local news station!" she giggled and brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, so pretty boy salesman for a paper company is better?" He looked at her strangely for a moment, his head turned to the side, and she blushed. She opened her mouth to say something, but he was quick to stifle her.

"You're right, pretty boy weatherman is _much_ better. Just think, I'd be like a celebrity,"

She smirked at him. "Yeah, but then you wouldn't be able to hang out with cool people like me."

"That's right. I'd be able to hang out with people _cooler_ than you."

She was ready with a witty retort, but Michael suddenly burst out of his office. To say that he looked nervous was an understatement. He looked downright frantic.

"Listen up, everyone. We have a slight problem. Scratch that. We have a major problem," he ran his hand through his hair and Dwight leapt up suddenly, standing dutifully beside Michael with his hands on his hips.

"There's a tornado watch," he continued, "Big storm on the way, and we're all going to go down to the warehouse. It's the safest place to be."

Jim glanced at the clock. It was past four thirty. "Uh, are you sure Michael? It's almost quitting time. What if we just went home?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Jim," Dwight interjected, "Can you outrun a tornado?" Jim opened his mouth to speak, but Dwight cut him off. "No, you can't, so unless you want to die—unless you all want to die—I suggest you head down to the warehouse immediately!" his voice had risen steadily as he had been speaking, and by the time he finished he was practically shouting at the assembled group.

Everyone groaned, and began filing out the door.

Jim waited for Pam as she grabbed her bag. He watched her and was suddenly glad that things were playful and light-hearted between them once again. He couldn't have been more relieved. Yet despite everything being back to the so-called norm, he could still sense all that had happened in the last few months lurking in the back of his mind. But he had a horrible habit of ignoring the things that were bothering him, so it was possible (not) for him to forget their kiss and all the awkwardness that ensued because of it. _It's nothing_, he thought to himself. _It's done and over with._ He nodded his head absently. _Yes_, he decided. _I'm over it. I'm over her_.

He was leaving. She was getting married. End of story.

She spoke suddenly and he practically jumped, startled out of his thoughts.

"Did you ever see that movie _Twister_?" she slung her bag over her shoulder and they headed out the door.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. "Yeah," he replied, "It was craptastic." He said it so seriously, without a hint of a grin on his face, that she couldn't help giggling.

"What was it again?" she asked him, and he rolled his eyes at her.

"It was a major crapfest," she laughed aloud this time.

"Great vocabulary you've got there, Halpert. But yeah, anyway, remember that one part where that guy gets sliced in the head? That was pretty nasty."

He shook his head. "Yeah, Pam, it was nasty, but remember that he got sliced in the head while hiding in a _metal _building full of sharp, _metal _objects? Honestly, I would have risked it out in my car." The doors slid open and he waited as she stepped out, following behind her.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs they passed Ryan, heading back up. Jim eyed him curiously and was about to ask if he was heading out, when Michael suddenly emitted what could only be described as a girlish squeal. Ryan stopped dead in his tracks, and Jim tugged at Pam's sleeve.

"Watch this," he muttered under his breath.

"Ryan, where are you going?" Michael began to walk towards him, and Ryan took a slow step back.

"I'm going to head home," he replied nonchalantly.

"Uh, Ryan. You can't. It's too dangerous." Pam held a hand to her mouth, trying to suppress a giggle.

"I'll take my chances," Ryan stated matter-of-factly, as he turned towards the stairs.

"Ryan NO!" Michael nearly screamed and ran to him full speed. He dove to the ground and threw his arms around Ryan's ankles. "It's a suicide mission!"

Pam lost it. She gripped Jim's arm for support, and as she doubled over in laughter he smiled to himself, feeling slightly punch-drunk. But he was quick to shake his head, brushing those thoughts aside. He didn't think about those things anymore.

Instead, he watched as Ryan swayed, but caught his balance. He tried unsuccessfully to disentangle himself from Michael's death grip.

"I'll be fine," he said through gritted teeth. Michael tightened his hold on Ryan's legs.

"As your boss I am demanding that you stay with me—uh…here. Um, I demand that you stay here…with us," he let go of Ryan and stood up, brushing himself off absently. "Mandatory, Ryan, okay? You can't leave."

Pam's hand was still on Jim's arm, and he noticed that she let it linger there a little longer than necessary. She must have read his mind, because she suddenly yanked it away and let it fall unceremoniously to her side.

He cleared his throat. "So," he began, "Where's Roy?" He looked around the warehouse for Roy's hulking figure, but couldn't spot him anywhere.

"It's his brother's birthday," she replied, "He's out of town."

Jim thought this was a very lucky, albeit slightly odd coincidence that Roy was not around on the one day they get to hang around outside of work. Well, _kind_ of outside of work. He was free to spend time with Pam and not have to worry about Roy putting a damper on things. Of course, the looming tornado would probably do that, but Jim was not very preoccupied with that thought. Dangerous natural disasters that had the potential to devastate ranked far below hanging out with Pam.

--------

Ryan was afraid that he would forever spend his life with someone watching his every move. Earlier, this fear had been confirmed when Michael had practically bullrushed him, and now it was especially obvious as he stood talking to Toby. He was painfully aware of Kelly's beady eyes boring a hole into the back of his head. Not particularly interested in what Toby was saying, but keen to not have to face Kelly for the entire night, Ryan stood rooted to the spot and refused to turn around.

"Pre-nuptials, Ryan, that's what I'm saying. If you ever get married—"

"Ryan doesn't see himself ever getting married," Kelly interrupted, her voice shrill.

Toby coughed awkwardly. "Er…"

Ryan could tell he was backing away, and he silently pleaded with him to stay. Toby just grinned sheepishly and darted around the corner, leaving Ryan alone with Kelly.

He groaned and threw his head back, but Kelly--ever the oblivious one--simply smiled and batted her eyelashes in what, he figured, she thought was a seductive way. It might have been if they hadn't been so goopy from mascara and if well, to be frank, she wasn't herself.

"So anyway, I dropped the no carbs thing, that totally didn't work. And god, I mean I love Dr. Phil, but his son's diet book was just—well, it didn't work either. So now I'm on this new thing—"

In a desperate attempt to get her to stop talking he said, "Kelly, you don't need to diet."

And the second the words left his mouth he realized what a mistake they were.

Her eyes suddenly widened and got fairly misty as she choked, "Oh. My. God. Ryan!"

It was going to be a long night.

--------

"This is just great," Dwight said, pacing. "Aside from the obvious danger from the impending storm, I was supposed to have a _date _tonight."

He looked expectantly around the room. No one paid him any attention. He cleared his throat and groaned noisily, "Well this is swell," his voice was unnaturally loud, "_I _have a date tonight!"

Jim rolled his eyes and looked up from where he sat on the floor with Pam.

"No. You don't."

"Uh, I think I do," Dwight retorted.

"Uh, I think you don't."

"Do too!" Dwight insisted.

Jim suddenly nodded his head, a false look of comprehension coming across his face, "Oh, sorry. My bad. Have fun with your mom!"

"You stop it, Jim, you stop it right now, or I'll…I'll—"

"St-st-stutter at me?" Jim offered, and Pam snorted. Dwight glared at him, and Jim was sure his head would explode. Much to his disappointment, it didn't, and Dwight stalked off in the opposite direction.

"That was kind of mean," Pam said, when Dwight had turned the corner.

"_What_? Pam, are you going soft on me?"

"No!" she protested, "Not it's just it's kind of sweet—oh, look!" she pointed to some shelves across the room where Dwight could visibly be seen talking to Angela in hushed tones. He leaned forward and Jim grimaced.

"Oh god," Pam shuddered, "I'm sorry, I take it back. Forget I ever said anything."

"That is really twisted—oh, god, look away!" he buried his head in his arms.

--------

The storm outside was raging. There was clap of thunder, a brilliant flash of lightning, and the lights flickered, then suddenly went out. The warehouse was completely dark, and someone (Kelly) screamed. Everyone fished around for their cell phones, and the room was suddenly aglow with a bunch of tiny, star-like lights.

"Oh my god," Kelly whispered to Ryan. "This is scary. This is like _really _scary."

"It's fine," he said exasperatingly. "We're fine."

"We could die," she squeaked. "This could be the last night we're alive." He contemplated the possibility of smacking her. Maybe in the cover of darkness he could blame it on someone else.

"Would you relax? It's a thunder storm, not the apocalypse for crying out loud."

Her was voice low. "What if we die tonight?"

"We're not going to—" but Kelly wasn't interested in what they weren't going to do.

She rushed at him, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He sighed against her, irritated. She mistook his annoyance for passion, and kissed him harder.

It was a mere twelve seconds before he gave in and kissed her back. After all, she was a girl. It was dark. And it had been a while.

_Yeah_, he convinced himself. _That's it_. 

--------

As they were suddenly pitched into darkness, Jim heard a woman scream. Next to him, Pam jumped slightly, and he was proud of her for not being such a—well, a girl, and shrieking. He didn't care much for damsels in distress.

He dug out his cell phone, and as he flipped it open it illuminated their faces. He liked looking at her in the darkness.

"Well this is convenient," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He smirked. "Pretty romantic though, right? I'm sure Dwight and Angela are off making out in a corner somewhere."

Pam shuddered. "Seriously, Jim, I had _just _gotten that visual out of my head."

They laughed and then fell silent. The warehouse was eerily quiet. The darkness seemed to have given everyone the impression that they had to talk in whispers, so all that could be heard were hushed voices, with the occasional shrill sound of laughter slicing the air.

"You want to play truth or dare?" Pam asked him suddenly.

"Oh right, I forgot we're thirteen."

She made a face at him. "Yeesh, sorry. I'm bored, I was only trying to think of something to do."

"We could talk about things. Art. Politics. Current events—"

"Ooh! When do you think was the last time Michael had a girlfriend?"

"I said _current_ events, Pam," he shook his head, and paused before asking, "So what does Pam Beesly do for fun?"

She laughed sharply. "Oh. Loads. Yeah, I'm like really, really interesting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know, sometimes I do the laundry. Other times I don't. Um. I go to the movies. I read. I—god, I'm really boring."

"Pretty much. But I can only say that because that's exactly what I do, so…"

They fell silent again. Jim suddenly felt depressed so he racked his brain for a new topic of conversation. His cleverness was failing him though. He couldn't think of anything to say.

She sighed, and he leaned against the shelf, his eyes closed.

The warehouse was still, and when she spoke again it was in a soft whisper.

"It feels like we're the only two people in the world," and his eyes snapped open.

His heart pounded.

"Aren't we?" he asked her, his voice quieter than when she had spoken.

But she didn't say anything more, and he sighed dejectedly.

--------

_Okay Ryan_, he told himself, _Don't. Freak. Out._ His head was spinning as he kissed Kelly, his hands roaming all over her. He knew this was a mistake. He was certain he would regret it later. But…he couldn't stop.

_She's annoying_, he thought. _She's annoying and stupid, and her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. She's shallow and superficial. She's like a thirteen-year-old girl trapped in the body of a twenty-five year old woman._

But then there were those other times. When it was just the two of them hanging out. She could be funny. She cracked hilarious jokes and was always ready with a witty retort. She could be insightful. Sometimes they actually had meaningful conversations. And she liked the Eagles. He had been shocked into silence when she had told him that. She had finished up by adding something about football players and tight pants, but the point was that she liked the same team he did.

So maybe he didn't hate Kelly. Maybe he actually even _liked_ her.

_Oh god_, he thought. _I've got to quit or I'm going to be sucked in._

--------

"Jim?" Pam whispered.

"Hmm?" They had been sitting in silence for almost an hour.

"Are you asleep?" she asked him.

"Yes," he lied, "Sound asleep."

She nudged him playfully. "Come on, seriously."

He sat up straight and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He peered at his phone and saw it was only 7:30. His body was heavy and it felt like it was hours later.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you ever not breathe?"

He sat up straighter. He could see where this is going and it wasn't like Pam to say something so forward, so personal. He hesitated, and she took his silence as a sign to continue talking.

"I don't know. I mean, sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. And I don't mean that metaphorically or anything. I mean like I literally have to stop and catch my breath."

"I don't know," she said again, and her voice was so low he had to lean forward to hear her. "Sometimes I think I'm making the wrong choice."

It was the darkness that was making her speak like this. He knew it. It was the darkness and the storm and the fact that Roy was out of town. It had nothing to do with anything else.

He knew she was waiting for him to say something. An awkward silence settled between them. He said nothing, and the silence continued for several minutes.

"Jim," she pleaded, "Say something."

He knew what she wanted him to say. But he couldn't say it.

"Jim—"

Not couldn't. Wouldn't.

"Pam. I—I can't save you," he whispered so quietly that he wasn't even sure if he had spoken at all. But he heard her inhale sharply, so he knew he had.

Maybe it was the cover of darkness that made him say what he said next. The dark always made things easier. He would never have the courage to talk to her like this in the light of day. Or maybe it was the fact that he was leaving, and she was getting married. Maybe it was one last desperate attempt to get her to understand.

"Listen," he continued. "You have got to get out of here. Okay? You're not meant for Scranton, Pennsylvania and a subpar job. All right? You just—you gotta just say screw this and you have to leave. But I—I can't save you Pam," he said again, his voice firm.

His eyes burned as the lights suddenly came back on. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the new brightness that filled the room.

Her face was sharp, and her voice cool as she replied, "I didn't ask you to."

And with that she stood and walked briskly to the stairs.


End file.
